


years away and nowhere to go

by kwritten



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 12:01:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1386886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwritten/pseuds/kwritten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>at a party somewhere, maybe</p>
            </blockquote>





	years away and nowhere to go

She kept checking her phone and email, wishing someone would make contact, before reminding herself for the last time (she swears) that there's no one on the other end. At least, not the people she's looking for in her inbox. They're all gone.  
  
That's the way she wanted it.  
  
Her super thanked her for bringing in the trash cans (the idiot upstairs doesn't come out during the day and can't be bothered to do anything more than grunt unattractively at the other residents in the building) (she'll probably fuck him more times than she ought) (she'll probably fall in love with him and he'll hate it) and her roommate sent her a pic of an empty milk jug to prove a point in an argument she's already forgotten and her lab partner emailed her a long list of snack requirements for their study date and wardrobe suggestions for the party she's dragging them to later that night. (But her phone still feels like empty weight in her hand.)  
  
(Saying goodbye is easier if you can see an end on the horizon.)  
(Hell, a horizon at all would be nice after all she's been through, the road ahead of her just keeps going and going in a straight line through time and nothing changes except the world.)  
  
Oh yeah, she's in university now. Again. For the first time.  
  
She's a transfer.  
  
She's a blank page and a compulsion tilt of the head and a smile and a "welcome to --!" and a five floor walk up.  
  
She looked down at her phone and it blinked at her wearily. She was late.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Sometimes years feel like space. Like something she can stretch her arms and toes out into and let it embrace her. Sometimes years feel like nothing at all. Like a blankness that is waiting to be filled, but no matter how hard she reaches out for it, it slips through her fingers like sand. Sometimes years feel exactly as they are, dark and cold and a little damp and smelling of wood and decay.   
  
Sometimes years feel like a cold hand on her back and soft lips in her ear.   
(and a knife in her back)  
  
Sometimes hours feel like years. Her brother would have something to say about that.  
  
The one with the long fingers and the slow smile and the dark eyes.  
(Don't look too closely, they weren't the same; no matter how much you wish they'd been different.)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
She hears a throaty laugh across the room and it's like she stepped through time. Just like that. Walked in the door and time was solid flesh, surrounding her in a mob. That leg pressed against her thigh is New Orleans and the warm breath on her neck is a balmy night on an island and the laugh across the room is the bridge and a sigh buried deep in her throat.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
There was a room once with a different girl and a different girl and they wore beautiful gowns and were hopeful and full life. There was a room once and a knife in the back and soft lips by her ear.  
  
Wasn't that always the way?  
  
  
  
  
  
The past liked to tease her, tickling her senses when she couldn't really afford to be distracted, creeping up behind the shadows as if it belonged there. It was a living, breathing thing. It had a heart that pumped where hers once did.   
  
Her past was littered with broken, bleeding hearts.  
  
(It was always her heart.)  
(Over and over again.)  
(She liked to lie and say that she stomped upon the hearts of men.)  
  
(But she was the girl that loved too much.)  
  
And she was the girl who survived.  
  
  
  
There's a difference in that tangle somewhere.  
But it doesn't matter when they are standing side by side.  
  
They're both alive.  
  
  
  
  
  
Just like that, it's the same old rhythm only nothing is the same at all and they laugh about that. Her nose wrinkles up attractively and she stares because it's so perfect for the moment and she wants to capture it and never let it go.   
  
(Time doesn't work like that, but she's good at pretending.)  
  
  
  
  
  
Time works like this: with your lips on mine in a crowded college party and we are just two girls with beers in our hand and lights in our eyes and devils on our shoulders. 


End file.
